


theory in motion

by deadlights (eurythmix)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 80's Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, richie may listen to the cure on repeat as a treat, this is painfully corny i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22901617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurythmix/pseuds/deadlights
Summary: After being dumped by his boyfriend, Richie wants nothing more than to wallow in peace. Too bad he picked the one café on campus housing the world's most irritated business major.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 286





	theory in motion

**Author's Note:**

> this is an ancient prompt fill that I still kind of like and I might continue if anyone's interested?? idk
> 
> title from [campus by bastille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLE-YxZ3JQ8)

It was approaching hour thirteen of Richie’s break-up breakdown when Stan kicked him out of their dorm. According to Stan (and Mike, who had sagely nodded at his boyfriend’s pronouncement), Steve was an asshole who didn’t deserve Richie. Which was heartwarming and all, but Richie had worked himself into a real mood and refused to climb out of it just because Mr Well-Adjusted told him to.

He ended up at the only café still open, a little hole-in-the-wall place staffed by a tired grad student staring at her phone. Richie ordered decaf (thanks, Ritalin) in the bigger mug they had and camped out in the armchair with his headphones firm in his ears, ready to wallow properly. 

Hours fourteen and fifteen were spent nursing the dregs of his cold cappuccino and staring out at the cold night. At some point the mercury dipped below freezing and sleet began to fall on the student commons, painting the concrete in another layer of miserable grey. He knew walking back in this weather would be a dumb idea; he’d probably slip and fall on his ass and no one would help him because he was going to be alone forever like the tragic figure he was, etcetera etcetera, music and lyrics by Robert Smith, _roll the goddamn credits already_. 

Richie was prepared to launch into hour sixteen with a dedicated Spotify playlist when his headphones were rudely tugged out of his ears. “Can you _please_ turn that down,” someone hissed behind him, “since some of us are trying to study.”

He almost lost his balance spinning around to face his accuser. The face he was met with was pretty furious - with equal emphasis on both pretty and furious. Richie supposed his big brown eyes would be gorgeous if they weren’t glaring with the force of an atom bomb in his general direction. That being said - “Dude, what the fuck, who just rips someone’s headphones out?”

The guy, twisted around on his own armchair, reeled back. “Who the fuck listens to the Cure for ninety minutes straight?” He shot back, incredulous.

“Uh, someone with taste. And how did you know it was the Cure anyway?”

“Because,” the guy growled, “you’ve had your volume stupidly loud all night and I can hear it from over here, dick. You know you’re just increasing your chances of going prematurely deaf by doing that.”

Richie snorted. “Thanks, doc, I was real worried about my hearing when I decided to listen to ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ for - what did you say, ninety minutes straight?” He paused. “Have you been keeping count? Because that’s kind of creepy, man.”

The guy rolled his eyes, but instead of turning away he hitched his knee onto the seat of his chair and faced Richie fully. He was dressed in the most ridiculous oversized hoodie Richie has ever seen - which was saying something, considering the general disaster that was Richie Tozier. “You’ve been listening to that fucking song the entire time I’ve been here,” he said, “and I got here an hour and a half ago. There. Ninety minutes. Not creepy.”

Richie felt himself grinning despite himself. “Oh, still creepy. Definitely creepy. This place is totally empty,” he pointed out, gesturing to the quiet expanse of the café. Even the barista had disappeared, probably ducked out the back to avoid getting involved. “You could’ve sat anywhere, cutie.”

It was almost comical how quickly the guy blushed, and Richie couldn’t bring himself to regret causing it. “I always sit here, asshole. And I didn’t know you’d have such shit taste in music.”

“Hey, man, take potshots at me, but you’re on real thin ice talking shit about the Cure.” Richie said, and rested his chin on his hand. It should be weird, how easily he was flirting with a stranger so soon after the clusterfuck that was Steve, but something about this guy felt close to familiar, like an old episode of _The Sopranos_ he could recite line-by-line. Warm, worn, wonderful.

The stranger, whoever he was, almost looked like he was enjoying himself too, if the softened frown lines were anything to go by. There was something close to a smile playing at his lips, softly amused, and Richie swore he caught the briefest hint of a dimple. _Oh no, he really_ is _cute_. “The Cure is, like, beginner eighties, and ‘Boy’s Don’t Cry’ isn’t even their best stuff. You don’t have to pretend it’s cool.”

“I’m not pretending, pal, I _know_ ‘Boy’s Don’t Cry’ is cool. And let me guess,” Richie said, grin spreading wider, “you’re a Stacey Q guy.”

“No -”

“ _Two of hearts_ ,” Richie sang, painfully off key and louder than he had any right to be nearing midnight on a Tuesday. “ _Two hearts that beat as one_ -”

The guy smacked his arm. “Shut the fuck up,” he laughed, shooting a glance towards the counter. The barista was still gone but Richie didn’t care - he’d finally smuggled a real bona-fide smile from this guy, and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

He launches back into the chorus, leaning across the divide to sing in this cute stranger’s beet-red face. “ _Two of hearts_ -”

“ _I need you, I need you,”_ the guy added in a breathy falsetto, then blinked as if he couldn’t believe himself. Richie collapsed against his chair, giggling helplessly.

“ _T-two of hearts_ \- oh my God, dude, the look on your face!” He mimed wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You’re fucking hysterical, man.”

The guy huffed. “It’s Eddie.”

Richie stilled. “What?”

“My name, dumbass. Eddie Kaspbrak. So you can stop calling me ‘man’ like a fucking frat bro.” He frowned. “Wait, _are_ you in a frat? That would explain a lot.”

Richie fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Eds, baby, does it look like I’m in a frat?”

“No,” Eddie admitted. “And don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, cutie. Richie Tozier, by the way.” He stuck his hand over the back of his chair and after a hesitant moment, Eddie took it. His grip was gentle but tight, soft skin smoothed over capable hands, and Richie’s heart started fluttering somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. If he didn’t say something dumb and disarming in the next minute, he’d end up melted on the ground like a flustered, incapacitated puddle. 

Eddie beat him to the punch. “Richie, short for Richard? Knew you were a Dick.” He smirked and pulled his phone from his pocket. A few deft taps later there was a buzzing from Richie’s lap - _Edward Kaspbrak has sent you a friend request_. Richie almost dropped his phone rushing to press accept. 

“Edward, huh? Like the fuckin’, uh, vampire?”

He could practically see Stan’s eyes rolling back to his head from across campus. Richie hoped for the briefest moment that maybe Eddie would find it funny instead of terribly embarrassing, and for a second he thought he succeeded. Except Eddie’s laughter was punctuated with a solid, “That was so bad. Holy crap. Are you always this shit at asking guys out?”

Richie’s mouth ran dry. There was an old fear here, buried under the pride pins he’d bought the day he left his buckfuck hometown, and he waited for Eddie to throw it back in his face. As if he was gay. As if he’d be interested. 

Instead, Eddie’s smile faltered into worry when Richie didn’t reply. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to assume -”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend,” Richie blurted over Eddie’s fumbled apology. Eddie stared at him for a handful of painful seconds, before visibly shaking himself and reaching out to touch Richie’s hand. Richie met him halfway, palm upturned to Eddie’s soft fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, tracing Richie’s heart line, “but I’m also super fucking glad you’re single and into dudes, so I guess I’m not sorry?” 

Richie chuckled weakly. “Apology not accepted, then?” He closed his hand around Eddie’s and squeezed. “Um, not to be like, aggressively forward or anything, but do you wanna go out for coffee some time?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow - exactly one, like a goddamn magician, and Richie’s heart gave another nervous flutter. “We _are_ out for coffee,” he said. “But dinner sounds nice.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s - ha. Yeah. Right.” Richie scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’ll, uh, message you? Or you’ll message me? Or -”

“Richie,” Eddie said, pushing both his legs onto the seat of his chair to lean closer. “Shut the fuck up.” And then - Richie knew his face was on fire, everything was, the world was a fucking fireworks show, because Eddie was pressing a light, chaste kiss to his cheek. Richie froze, his hands and lips and chest pulling him in ten different directions at once, and watched wordlessly as Eddie pulled back and patted the very same cheek he’d just kissed. 

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Eddie said. He turned to gather his books and slipped them into a backpack while Richie sat still and processed what the hell had just happened. Eddie stood and shot him an amused look. “See you later, Rich.”

And without any flair or consideration for Richie’s incredibly unstable heart, he pushed open the door and left the café.

Richie couldn’t move for at least five minutes. His skin, flushed and prickling, was still electric from Eddie’s touch, from his lips soft against Richie’s day-old stubble, from his sparkling laughter and razor sharp tongue. He got tangled in thoughts of listening to Eddie, watching his staccato movements, kissing the premature lines from his forehead and replacing them with smile lines, seeing those goddamn _dimples_ -

His phone vibrated. _If you’re not dead, you can come back. Mike bought Ben & Jerry’s, _ Stan had written, perfunctory as always. Richie ran a shaky hand through his hair and started to type, laughing under his breath: _dude, you’ll never believe what just happened…_

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://honeyreynolds.tumblr.com)


End file.
